


i just wanna hold your hand

by Anonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: -please do let me know, Crack, M/M, Plant Pollen?, Pre-Slash, gay incestuous handholding, i've never written anything so fast in my life, if there's a tag for 'sex pollen but less 'unbelievably horny' and more 'unbelievably high''-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jason and Dick get stuck together on a mission. Literally.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 23
Kudos: 201
Collections: Anonymous





	i just wanna hold your hand

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fic very quickly, and when i write things quickly they always somehow turn into crack, so. also i wrote this VERY stream of consciousness style, VERY seat of my pants, and i did zero editing, haha. i really was just 'yes, and'-ing all over the place. i had so much fun writing this, lmao... yee-haw 
> 
> also this fic might be pure irredeemable crack, but [this](https://twitter.com/threeleaves2/status/1329016675849564160?s=20) art is lovely and fantastic, please take a look at it and show the artist some love 
> 
> one last thing, if you'll humor me just a moment longer: jaydicks, how does it feel to win

“I want you to know,” Jason says, with far too much sour conviction. “That this is your fault. I blame you. You hear me?”

“Gluh,” Dick says, the appropriate response to a day filled with vicious, carnivore flowers, weird goo, and explosions. 

Jason holds their hands between them, and shakes them pointedly. “This especially,” he says, as though Dick needs a reminder. 

“You have to be nice to me,” Dick says. “I’m compromised. Stop blaming me for stuff. Asshole.”

Only it comes out, _Gluh_. 

At last, Jason looks concerned. He snaps the fingers of his free, non-glued hand in front of Dick’s face. “Hey,” he says. “ _Hey_. What’s wrong with you?”

 _A plant tried to eat me, I’m covered in dried, disgusting flower saliva, and someone shot us with a weird fucking alien superglue gun,_ Dick thinks. Nausea rolls over in his stomach, and he barely manages to force his mouth to cooperate long enough to croak out, “Plant,” before he twists his body to the side and throws up. 

“ _Plant?_ ” Jason says. Then, “Shit.”

As soon as Dick gets back home, he’s giving all the plants in his apartment up for adoption. He doesn’t want to see a single flower ever again. Trees are to be given a wide berth. Grass is on thin ice. 

“Alright, hey,” Jason says, voice startlingly softer now that Dick’s abject misery has been revealed. He untwists Dick’s body, helps him sit up, wipes at his face with a wrinkled nose. “Okay. How bad is it?”

“I don’t feel good,” Dick croaks, a gross under-exaggeration. 

“How bad?” Jason asks, again. Dick’s gaze drifts beyond him, and catches on the sky. He stares up at it, wondering why the sky on earth wasn’t such a beautiful shade of green. Jason snaps his fingers in front of Dick’s face again, and snarls, “ _Report_ , Nightwing.”

It’s automatic, the reaction to those words. The way Dick straightens, the way he struggles even harder against the dense fog in his mind. Bruce had trained them both well. _Like dogs_ , Dick thinks, and then immediately feels indignant on both his and Jason’s account. 

“You feel like a _dog?_ ” Jason says. 

Whoops. 

Jason studies him, then says, “Look, I’ll let you know now, because I’m nice like that - if you start barking, I’m holding it over you for the rest of your life.”

“Fuck you,” Dick manages, and Jason’s face twists like he wants to laugh. 

“That’s the spirit,” Jason says, and then heaves Dick to his feet. Dick is busy focusing on keeping the nausea at bay, so he can’t exactly curse at Jason for the move like he wants to—which, come to think of it, might have been exactly Jason’s plan. 

“I don’t feel good,” Dick wobbles out, every inch of his body unsteady. 

“Yeah, you’ve said that before,” Jason says, unsympathetically. Still, he steps closer so Dick can lean against him, and Dick swallows his thanks before he can blurt it out and ruin everything. 

_Never a dull moment_ , Dick thinks, as they shuffle awkwardly together through the forest. 

It’s one of the worst walks Dick has been on, made significantly more terrible by the way the world swirls in front of Dick’s eyes. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton, and it’s mildly concerning, the way Dick can’t really feel his face. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Jason fiddling, one-handed, with his communicator. There’s a scowl on his face, and Dick thinks, _no, that’s not right_. 

“What’re you doing?” Dick asks, trying to figure out how to turn that frown upside down.

Jason doesn’t look at him, just keeps scowling down at his com and dragging Dick through the forest. “Trying to get ahold of Roy and Kory,” he says. 

“Roy and Kory,” Dick repeats. 

“Yeah,” Jason says. Dick can feel his unfairly judgemental gaze drilling into the side of Dick’s face. “Don’t you remember?”

Oh, right. Dick shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. He might remember something like that. Roy. Kory. Alien planet. Plants that wanted to eat them. Guns. An explosion. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Dick says. His tongue feels clumsy, but Dick is incensed enough to push past it. “You liar. There’s no way that explosion was my fault.”

“ _That’s_ what you want to focus on?”

“ _You’re_ Mister Trigger-Happy Explosive,” Dick says. “There is _no way_ I caused that.”

“Sure,” Jason says. “Unless you were drugged out of your mind on plant toxin and acting like an idiot.”

“I would _never_ ,” Dick says, not even fully certain which point he’s arguing over anymore. 

“Yeah, you would,” Jason says, with a great deal of undeserved resignation. 

Dick’s head flops forward, because his neck feels like a very short, limp noodle, and he catches sight of their hands, crushed awkwardly between their bodies. 

“Hey,” Dick says, slowly. “We’re holding hands.”

Jason says something that sounds a lot like ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

“Jason,” Dick says, because he doesn’t quite think Jason is quite comprehending the magnitude of this. “We’re _holding hands_.”

Jason says nothing. Dick thinks he starts to walk a little faster, which is rude, mostly because Dick’s already tripping over himself to keep up. It’s not all that terrible anymore, though, since the nausea that was twisting through his stomach has all but disappeared. 

Dick stops, then nearly falls over when Jason keeps going, their connected hands tugging Dick after him. 

“I don’t feel sick anymore,” Dick says, and Jason stops, then turns to look at him. “Jason, I think I’m better.”

“You absolutely are not,” Jason says. 

“No,” Dick says. “I’m definitely better. See?”

Jason stares. He has the kind of look about him that heavily implies he wants to shove Dick off a cliff. “What am I supposed to be looking at?

“Me,” Dick says. “In the prime of my health.” He thinks about it, then adds, “Duh.”

“If this is your prime, I have bad news for you,” Jason says. 

“You’re rude,” Dick says. 

“You’re a dumbass.”

The forest spins. Dick tries to spin with it, and Jason steps forward to steady him. 

“Stop insulting me,” Dick says, and whew, boy, he feels sick again. His head feels hot, hot, hot. Like someone lit a fire in his skull. 

“Stop deserving it,” Jason snaps. 

Dick can’t remember what they were arguing about. He says, “Jay,” and then bends over and throws up all over Jason’s boots. 

Things go a little fuzzy. He thinks he hears Jason cursing, and then he feels himself being propped up against something. More cursing. 

“Stop saying _fuck_ ,” Dick says. 

“Fuck off,” Jason snaps. 

Dick tries to wet his lips with his annoyingly dry tongue. He opens his eyes, squints up at Jason. “I’ll buy you new boots,” he says. 

“You’d better,” Jason says, the threat of violence clear in his voice. 

Dick really shouldn’t find that hot. 

Jason’s face flips through a complicated set of emotions. “You are unbelievable,” he says, and Dick watches, fascinated, as red blooms over the freckles on the bridge of his nose, over the scattering on his cheeks. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Know what?” Dick asks, distracted by how he kind of wants to lick Jason’s face. 

“Stop. Talking.” Jason grits out. “I can’t believe how embarrassing you are.” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Dick says. 

“ _Clearly_.”

Dick wants to keep talking, but Jason looks one annoyance away from finding a way to bring Dick to a permanent end, so in the spirit of self-preservation, Dick goes quiet. 

Jason stays crouched in front of Dick, their connected hands laying limply in Dick’s lap, while Jason fiddles with his com. Minutes tick by. Dick stares at their hands. He squeezes, then lets his hand go limp. Squeezes again. Goes limp. Squeezes.

“Please stop treating my hand like a stress ball,” Jason says, sounding tired. 

“Why don’t we do this more often?” Dick asks. 

“Hm,” Jason says. More fiddling with the com. “Are you talking about the trip to another planet, this disaster mission, you drugged out of your mind, or the hand-holding?” 

Dick thinks about it. “Yes,” he says. 

“Oh, well, that clears everything up,” Jason says. 

“Good,” Dick says. He squeezes Jason’s hand again. “We’re doing this again?”

“Not on your life,” Jason says, just as the com comes to life with a squeal of static. Dick winces, then watches as Jason adjusts the volume and sticks the com back in his ear, talking quietly to whoever’s on the other side. 

Dick lets his head list back, and he stares up at the sky. His head hurts, he doesn’t quite think he can stand, and he still can’t feel his face. 

In other words, Dick feels great. 

“I think I’m sick,” he says, aloud. 

“Thank god,” Jason says. “You’re thinking.” 

“I’m always thinking,” Dick says. “That’s how brains work.”

“As always,” Jason says. “You continue to be the exception.” 

That would be sweet, if Dick didn’t feel immensely insulted. 

Jason taps the side of his face. “Hey,” he says. “Look at me.” 

Dick looks at him.

“Can you stand?”

“Sure,” Dick says, and then doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Jason blows out a breath. “Alright,” he says. “You’d better not throw up on me, Dickhead.”

“What,” Dick says, just as Jason picks Dick up and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

While Dick stares at the ground and tries to figure out what just happened, Jason starts walking. 

“What’re we doing,” Dick says, trying very, very hard not to throw up. Jason’s shoulder digging into his stomach doesn’t really help. Neither does being upside down. 

Dick wonders if Jason thought this through completely. 

“We have to get a little further before Roy and Kory can pick us up,” Jason says. Dick nods along, because, sure, yes. That’s probably a good thing. 

The world twists and turns in front of Dick’s eyes. _Like looking through a kaleidoscope_ , he thinks, faintly, as he throws up a little in his mouth and then swallows it back down. 

“Oh my god,” Dick says, hating everything about this. He closes his eyes. Jason’s shoulder is still digging uncomfortably into Dick’s stomach. “Jason,” he says. “ _Jason_.”

“What,” Jason says. 

“Would it kill you,” Dick says, slowly. “To carry me like you love me.”

“ _What_.”

“Fine,” Dick says. “Like you _care_ for me.”

At Jason’s silence, Dick amends his request once more, “Okay,” he says. “Would it kill you to carry me like you don’t want me to throw up all over your nice jacket.”

“Don’t throw up,” Jason says. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dick says, and tries to summon vomit out of spite. 

“Holy fuck,” Jason says, like Dick’s retching is actually getting to him. He stops, crouches, puts Dick back down on the ground. “You are insufferable like this,” he says. 

“I’m very miserable right now,” Dick informs the sky. 

“You’re making _me_ miserable,” Jason says, which is unfair on so many levels. 

Dick takes the high road and focuses on the real matter at hand. “Did we get to Roy and Kory yet?”

Jason takes a deep breath. “No,” he says, slowly. “Because you were threatening to throw up on me. Like a _child_.”

“How’s it _my_ fault you’re scared of a little vomit?”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about this right now.”

“We don’t _have_ to be arguing,” Dick says, then actually considers that. “Hey, why _are_ we always arguing?”

“That,” Jason says, “is not a discussion I want to have with you, especially not when you’re like this.”

“No,” Dick says. “I think we should talk about it.”

“You don’t get a say,” Jason says. “I’m going to pick you up again. No throwing up.”

He’s careful when he lifts Dick, and it takes Dick a moment to realize that, hey, Jason’s shoulder isn’t digging into his stomach anymore. Jason’s shoulder is, actually, right by Dick’s head, at the perfect height for Dick to rest the side of his face against it. 

“Hey,” Dick says, voice muffled by Jason’s jacket. “You’re carrying me like you love me.”

“Shut up,” Jason says. 

Dick squeezes Jason’s hand, and shuts up.

When they finally manage to get to Roy and Kori, Dick is barely grasping onto consciousness. He’s aware enough, though, to pry his eyes open when Jason finally sets him down on something soft and horizontal, and he’s _definitely_ aware enough to cringe away when Roy says, far too loudly, “What the _fuck_ happened to the two of you?”

“Ask _him_ ,” Jason says, sourly.

Which, hey, no. Dick squeezes his hand again. “Don’t be mad,” he slurs out. Tries to blink the tiredness from his eyes. He must fail, completely and utterly, because the next thing he knows, it's cool and dark, and Roy is gone, and Jason is propped up in a chair next to Dick’s bed. 

Their hands are still glued together, Dick thinks, and can’t hold back a loopy sounding giggle. 

Jason raises his head from the book in his lap. “Hey,” he says. “Feeling better?”

Dick waves his free hand in the air, and grins at Jason like a maniac. And he _knows_ he’s grinning, because he can actually _feel his face_. 

“Yeah,” Jason says. “It’ll probably take a while for it to get out of your system completely. Go back to sleep.” 

“What about this?” Dick asks, and flops their hands around. 

“That’ll wear off too,” Jason says. “See?” And he holds their hands up, then pulls his fingers away from where they were loosely curled over Dick’s hand. Only their palms are stuck together, now. 

“Aw,” Dick says, weirdly disappointed. 

“ _Aw?_ ” Jason says, snorting, as he turns back to his book. “If you’ve wanted to hold my hand that bad, you could’ve just asked.”

“Okay.” Dick says. “Can I?”

“Can you what,” Jason says, clearly not paying attention. 

“Can I hold your hand,” Dick says. 

Jason goes very quiet. He’s staring at the book in his lap, though Dick isn’t actually sure if he’s reading it or not. 

“Jason?” Dick says, just in case Jason had zoned out completely and hadn’t heard him. “Can we—”

“I heard you,” Jason says. He turns the page in his book, clears his throat, then says, still not looking at Dick, “Ask me again when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” Dick says. “I will.”

Dick settles back, closes his eyes. Focuses on feeling better, like if he thinks about it it’ll come faster. 

He tightens his grip on Jason’s hand—

—and, after a second, he feels Jason squeeze back. 

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZ9JxDiFPWA) song. also was probably inspired a bit by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G33wmfaRjuk) song, i'm not gonna lie to you. 
> 
> recs for more songs about handholding are very welcome. & if i need to add/edit tags, please let me know.
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [fourhorsemen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourhorsemen/pseuds/fourhorsemen) Log in to view. 




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